Chapter Three: Cyclone
Now there she go again
Ridin through the stormy weatha'
You betta button up
If you wanna go get her
Cause it is what it is
Everybody wanna love her
But when she pop it, boy
You better run for cover
~Baby Bash ft. T-Pain
There wasn’t anything worse than a night alone, especially when it did nothing to negate anger. Logan stomped through the mansion with the grace of a thundercloud, cigar puffing with irritation between his lips.
She was such a goddamn child, he thought heatedly. When he’d gone to Jean’s room after the disastrous evening meal, he found Kitty and Pete trying to calm the raging telepath down. One look at their resident Wolverine’s face sent both packing with lame excuses.
Jean immediately railed at him. How could he stand up for them? The entire idea of Betsy and Dazzler getting married was ridiculous. He hadn’t even defended her from Dazzler, stepping in only when Storm came around that table looking mad enough to kill. What had he done instead of smacking that white-haired bitch? He ordered his girlfriend out of the room.
For some reason, his dismissal really ticked her off. Logan told the fiery redhead that he had no problem with Betsy and Ali’s upcoming nuptials. Sure, it might be a little odd, but what about this school was perfectly normal? The way he saw it, he said patiently as he could, any two people could vow to spend their lives together. Man and woman. Man and Man. Woman and Woman. What difference could it make?
The very idea that Logan didn’t wholly support her sent Jean into further fury. She stomped tiny feet, balled up miniscule hands and cried like a teenager. Logan found himself repulsed by her childish mannerisms, combating her ranting with a simple.
“I thought they were your friends.”
His telepath girlfriend merely glared, declaring that Storm poisoned both Betsy and Alison against her, turning the odd little five-some into a clique of some sort. She felt pushed away, left all alone, and her tears began to tug at Logan’s heartstrings. But she continued to rail against the matrimonial ceremony, citing that it wasn’t real and would mean nothing.
Logan set his jaw, then, speaking with irritation in his tone. “You really are a little bigot, aren’t you?”
It was then that her tiny hand smacked him across the face. At first shocked, Logan nearly got slapped again, but recovered his reflexes in time to grab at her offending limb. For an instant, he contemplated hitting her back, shoving aside his violent tendencies barely in time. Instead, he growled at her and slammed out of the room, letting her screeching drift into the distance.
Taking refuge on the rooftop, Logan came across a scene that truly hit him in the heart. Watching Cyclops and Storm’s short exchange drove home the fact that Jean really didn’t know what she was talking about. Her below the belt dig at Storm was not only unnecessary, but completely off base.
What Logan saw on the front porch was something no cinematic genius could duplicate: pure, unfettered heartbreak. He knew immediately that Storm had deeply loved Cyclops and that the boy loved back just as fiercely. What drove them apart, he wondered. Just life? Or was it the fear of something so consuming?
He wished, for the first time in recalled memory, to feel something like that. How wonderful had they been together before they were torn apart? With such pain came great pleasure, he thought. Logan knew he might never tell them he witnessed that painful exchange, but it might forever change the way he looked at both parties involved. Here he’d thought Cyke just a stuck-up boy scout.
Shaking his head to clear it, the image of Storm’s destroyed face came to the forefront. Cyclops hadn’t seen it. For a brief moment, Logan caught the tremble of her chin, the tears pushed from those bright blue eyes. Could a woman feel that way for a man? Logan thought she looked like her world came down around her ears.
Thoughts of that snow-capped mutant haunted him through the night. He wondered what she’d seen in Cyclops. Did he make her laugh? Had he touched her in all those places she needed to be touched? Did he protect her? Support her? Was Cyke a real man when they were together?
Why, in the name of hell, was he thinking about her?
As if by some preordained cue, Logan moved past her bedroom in his absent stalking of the halls. He heard many voices coming through the open door and stopped without truly meaning to. Inside the cluttered bedroom sat Angel, Iceman, Dazzler, and Storm around a game board. They were laughing and chatting at high volume.
Storm, whose back faced the door, bore no hint of last night’s confrontation out of doors. He watched her bounce in excitement while Drake read something from a card.
“Ok, shut up!” Drake laughed. “O, this is for the gold. What actor portrayed the famous Doc Holliday in a 1993 Wyatt Earp-inspired film?”
She tossed that beautiful white hair over her shoulder and sat up. “Val Kilmer?”
“Correct!”
At once, Dazzler and Storm squealed, leaping to their feet. They immediately launched into a victory dance that consisted of shaking hips and something Drake once called the “Cabbage Patch”.
In unison they sang amid much giggling. “Go, ninja, go ninja, go! Go ninja, go ninja, GO!”
Logan fought to hide his smile and a chuckle as Storm and Dazzler swung their hips, continuing their mantra. He could not help but appreciate Storm’s generous curves and the cheerful lilt to her voice. For such a dead-serious mutant, it seemed strange that she gave in to a sillier side. Perhaps that was what Alison did for her.
“Logan.”
Rolling his eyes at the sudden intrusion, Logan swung his head around to find Jean standing behind him. Her green eyes sparkled with temper, arms crossed over her chest, one hip cocked to the side and her foot tapping impatiently.
He glanced back into the bedroom, noting that Storm heard the interruption as well. She faced him, her head tilted in curiosity. She leaned up on her bare toes to look behind him, then tossed her long hair over one shoulder. With determined steps, she came closer.
Caught between both women, Logan resisted the call of his survival instinct and remained in place. Storm reached the door as Jean cleared her throat. One dark hand shot out, grasping the doorknob. Logan made no move to explain himself, but winced when Storm slammed her bedroom door in his face so hard his ears would be ringing for hours.
“Logan.” Jean’s tone slipped to downright vicious. “What are you doing out here?”
“None of your goddamn business, Jean.” He shot back, not bothering to look over his shoulder at her again.
“I don’t want you around her,” the girl continued. “I mean it.”
Now, he did turn. Slowly and with control over his fighting instinct, Logan faced the pretty woman he’d shared a bed with for many months. She tilted her chin up in defiance, giving no thought to the fact that he could smell the fear coming off of her in waves.
“You ain’t in a place to be issuin’ me orders, girl.” He snarled quietly. “Better give me some distance.”
She faltered for only a moment. “I don’t like how you look at her.”
“Then stop followin’ me.” Logan brushed past her.
“We’re not done,” Jean called, moving to follow.
Logan whirled on her, crowding her into the wall with two menacing steps. “Yeah, we are. Back off, little girl. You’re tryin’ my patience.”
“B-But…”
“I’ve got trainin’ with Betsy,” he continued in a flat tone.
Jean stomped her foot again. “You can’t train with that…dy”woman! I don’t like it.”
He slammed both fists into the wall on either side of Jean’s head, leaving indentations in the polished wood sheath. Jean squeaked, even as Storm’s bedroom door popped open once more. The white-haired goddess rushed into the hall behind him without any hint of fear.
“What’s going on? Jean?” Her words were clipped, a sign that she meant business.
“Logan’s out of control!” Jean squealed, the sound shifting to a yelp when he growled.
“Wolverine,” Storm ordered calmly. “Let her go. She isn’t worth it.”
For some reason, he immediately followed that order, pushing away from Jean in a huff. The girl slipped away, rushing down the hall so that her sobbing echoed through the corridor. Storm shot a look to her friends, sending them right back into her bedroom with one icy glance.
When they were alone, Storm put her hands on slender, denim-clad hips. “What happened?”
Logan jerked one shoulder. “Thinks she can order me around.”
To his surprise, Storm smiled beautifully. “You’re not alone. She orders everyone around.”
“Not me,” he snapped without bite. “I don’t take orders.”
“Then you’ve got the wrong girlfriend.” She stated simply. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
Somewhat startled, Logan nodded. “Why not?”
He took a moment to study her features. The eyes captured anyone at first sight, that brilliant blue against dark chocolate skin. But her generous mouth and long nose gave her the look of royalty, the edge of her chin betrayed wildness and sensuality. He resisted the sudden, near-uncontrollable urge to yank her closer, to inhale the scent of cool rain and warm wind.
“Why Jean?” Storm questioned bluntly. “She seems a little immature and soft for a man like you.”
Intrigued by her observation, Logan stepped closer. He caught the leap in her heart rate and the inhalation of breath. “A man like what?”
She exposed her neck submissively, a signal that Logan could take as want and acceptance. He nearly grunted with the force it took to resist clamping his teeth down on that smooth, caramel flesh.
“You’re too untamed,” she continued in a husky tone. “Too wild and greedy for a girl like Jean.”
“That what you think?” He stepped closer still.
“Yes,” she smiled invitingly. “But then, I don’t like your girlfriend.”
“Ya don’t, huh?” He brushed his body close to hers and felt the ripple of her skin as she drew nearer.
“Perhaps you need a new one,” Storm breathed, leaning up on her toes to speak against his ear. “For a taken man, you’re acting very interested in me.”
“Darlin’,” Logan growled lowly, his eyes closing when she kissed his stubble-covered cheek. “I’d have to be six feet under to not be interested.”
He nearly startled when her tongue lapped at his earlobe. Blood roared in his veins at her kittenish, playful taunting.
“Maybe,” Storm whispered, kissing him again. “Or maybe you’re just not that committed to Jean.”
He knew it was wrong. Everything in his head screamed that playing with this sensual goddess would destroy whatever he had with Jean. Perhaps Jean’s recent behavior felt too close to the surface, but Storm’s beautiful torture seemed to negate anything he liked about his girlfriend. Storm was far too appealing, way too close, and just too damn gorgeous.
Fighting with himself, he turned his head until their mouths brushed intimately. Neither moved to deepen the gentle touch, though Logan felt the connection like a jolt of lightning.
“What’re you after, Storm?”
She smirked and pulled back, winking at him slyly. “Let’s just say, I’m interested as well.”
As though the conversation were done, she sauntered back toward her bedroom, hips rolling in an appetizing sway. Logan clenched his fists, wanting to drag her back to finish what she’d started. He knew, though, that if he did, the relationship he held with Jean would be over. Hell, just days ago he purred with contentment in the younger girl’s arms.
Why had everything changed so drastically?
“Oh, by the way,” Storm called over her shoulder. “We’re all heading out tonight. Well, all those over twenty-one. If you’d like to join us for a few beers and a round of pool, be ready by nine.”
Without waiting for a response, Storm reentered her bedroom and closed the door behind her. Logan fell back against the wall, staring at the door as though it held the answers to all of his questions. The clarity he’d mused over just three days ago flew out the window, leaving him more confused than the first time he came face to face with Charles Xavier.
Wolverine?
Sensing Betsy in his thoughts, Logan shoved all of them out, concentrating on the upcoming sparring match.
Yeah. I’m comin’.
~**~
Alison shook her head when Bobby and Warren quickly exited Storm’s bedroom. She faced her light haired friend, whom busied herself by picking up the overturned Trivial Pursuit game. When they heard the crash outside, coupled with Jean’s startled yelp, Ororo kicked the board out of the way in her haste to help the redhead.
Part of Dazzler knew it was instinctual, Storm had hero in her veins. She needed to help anyone in need and the instant Alison saw Wolverine’s face, she conceded that Jean needed it. That, however, didn’t mean Ali could resist being slightly hurt that Storm was so willing to hop to and render aid to such a bitch.
What surprised Alison the most was Storm’s taunting of the new guy. Granted, Dazzler understood the attraction. Since Scott, Ororo gravitated toward the untamed, the dangerous, someone to get her blood moving way too fast. But Alison knew Ororo rarely contemplated stealing a taken man, much less openly taunt one.
“Ok, O, what’s the deal?”
Storm, as though expecting her friend’s third degree, scarcely flinched. She placed everything into the wide box, covering it with the lid carefully. She tossed that brilliant white hair over her shoulder so that it fell down her back in a thick cape. Alison shook her head, hating that her best friend insisted on being so beautiful.
Dazzler once harbored a crush on her friend, but squashed it quickly. They had such a close relationship that romance and sex could only damage it. When Betsy came to the mansion, she immediately stole Alison’s heart. She acted like a balm on Alison’s bruised heart. Alison loved her life partner, but a part of her would always wonder how it might have been with Ororo.
“I have no idea.” Her friend admitted, standing to brush her jeans off. “I doubt anything will come of it. I know Wolverine’s breed. Wild and mean, loyal to a fault.”
Alison snorted. “What kinda loyalty can anyone have for that little cunt?”
Ororo shook her head, picking up the glasses and potato chip bags left by her friends. “She’s just used to doing things her way.”
“Ok, am I on crack or are you defending her?”
Storm winced, looking at her friend through a veil of thick lashes. “Perhaps I feel guilty for tempting her boyfriend.”
Feeling slightly guilty herself, Ali moved to Ororo, hugging her tightly. She rested her chin on her shoulder, squeezing her best friend tightly.
“Can’t wreck a happy home, sweetie.” Ali told her sagely. “Besides, you’re right on one thing. No way Jean’s good for him.”
Ororo chuckled, turning her head to kiss her friend’s cheek. “Very good point.”
“Just be careful,” Dazzler warned softly. “Don’t do this to bounce back.”
Storm tensed. “I am not thinking of Scott.”
“Don’t insult me by lying.” Dazzler moved back, grasping Storm by the shoulders to turn her. Once they faced one another, Ali cupped her cheeks, forcing her friend to meet her eyes.
“Seeing him again tore you up,” Dazzler whispered. “Don’t screw Jean’s boytoy to feel good about yourself.”
Ororo leaned forward so their foreheads touched intimately. “I am not thinking about Scott.”
Ali grinned. “But something about Growly Man has got your blood moving.”
“Oh, hell, yes,” Storm admitted on a chuckle.
Because her friend needed support, and she felt a little vindictive toward Jean anyway, Alison released Storm. She marched toward the closet, yanking out a beautiful dress they picked up in Calcutta. She studied the garment for a moment, tilting her head at it to imagine her dark-skinned friend wrapped in the orange and red fabric.
“Wear this tonight. Anyone with a pulse will be panting after you.”
Ororo chuckled, taking the hanger and holding the vibrant material up to her chest.
“Tonight may be more interesting than I imagined.”
~**~
Jean could not believe that anyone dared treat her as though she were made of air. All day she felt pushed aside. Unneeded. Unloved. Pissed off.
She kept her distance from Wolverine, but knew his whereabouts at all times. A quick psi-scan told her something happened between him and Storm when she ran from the corridor, though he kept most thoughts tucked too deep. If she scanned any further, he might detect her snooping and that was a whole other ball of wax.
In keeping with his wishes and the hissed warning Storm gave her at lunch, Jean kept to herself. She worked into a fury, noticing how everyone promptly forgot she existed when Storm and Dazzler showed up. There was talk of nothing but the upcoming wedding, something that immediately set Jean’s teeth on edge.
She didn’t really care if Betsy and Alison were together. Well, it did make her rather uncomfortable. A conservative upbringing had very little room for the so-called “alternate lifestyles”. Premarital sex tended to be as wild as Jean liked her lifestyles. Even her relationship with Wolverine, because he seemed so much older than she, got a little under her skin.
In fact, she’d been ready to end it until Storm arrived.
Most thought she was too vapid or flaky to notice, but she did. Logan’s eyes followed their wintry friend everywhere. He seemed to search for her if he caught her scent, which just irritated the hell out of possessive Jean. No matter what problems the relationship had, she won Wolverine fair and square. She intended to keep it that way.
So, as night fell on the mansion, she decided to go ahead and knock on his bedroom door. Male hormones being what they are, Jean assumed that a brash, open invitation for carnal pleasure would immediately sweeten her Wolverine’s mood. He did, after all, have an above average appetite for sex.
However, after five minutes of knocking, she realized he was not in his room. In fact, a psi-scan confirmed that he was no longer on the mansion’s grounds. Angry that he left without telling her or even leaving a message, she stomped back through the house, searching for anyone that might have an idea as to where he had gone.
She found Peter in the Rec Room, watching an old Western while cuddled up to Kitty Pryde. Unable to stomach a run around, she marched to the front of the screen, slammed her hands on her hips and glared for all she was worth.
“Where’s Wolverine?”
Kitty piped up, not bothering to censor herself. “He went out. With Storm and the others.”
“He did WHAT?!”
Her shout sent many of the others scurrying back into their rooms, ducking for cover from one of Jean’s infamous temper tantrums. She immediately sent out her heated, angry thought to Logan, only to find that he closed himself off sometime in the last hour, while she sat around brooding. Feeling slapped by his callous dismissal, Jean exited the Rec Room, heading up the stairs to her bedroom.
“I won’t have it,” Jean snarled into her silent bedroom. “He’s not getting away with this.”
~**~
When Ororo first came to New York ten years prior, it was with trepidation. She kept to herself as often as possible, uncomfortable as a goddess among mere mortals. Some months after her arrival, the realization sank in. The old man was correct. Though she controlled the weather and the villagers in Tanzania worshipped her as a goddess, here she was nothing.
Diminished.
She retreated inside for some time, wanting only to fade away. The trappings of idolatry once seduced the young mutant. Now, she felt embarrassed by the worship. Surrounded by powerful mutants dealt an enormous blow to her ego.
Jean could shred a person’s mind. Charles had the ability to kill all of humanity. Scott might punch a whole in the world, if left unprotected. Alison once absorbed the noise generated by five 747’s, creating a light visible from space.
So Ororo could make it rain. That seemed so…small when compared to the others.
Storm shifted from proud goddess to quiet, bookish student. Only after Alison offered her friendship did Ororo truly come back out of that uncomfortable shell. The blonde singer insisted they hit nightclubs before their seventeenth birthdays. Ororo discovered a love for music and dancing, aided by her darling friend.
Later, when their twosome became a threesome with the addition of Betsy, Ororo further blossomed. She took off into the night with her friends to parts of the world before only explored in books. Scott joined them not long after, pushing Ororo to expand her free-spirited nature so long denied. Now, she would not even entertain the idea of being shoved back into that damn box.
Tonight, she watched her friends dance, laughing all the while. Bobby and Warren each scored a scantily clad date within seconds. Both young women were plastered to her “boys”, twisting and grinding in something that her generation called dancing. To her pleasure, Ororo found some years ago that the sexual motions mimicked her tribe’s fevered gyrations. It was, she discovered, as natural to Storm as breathing.
Alison happened to be in the disc jockey’s booth, brushing up on her skills behind a mixer. Ororo knew her friend was gearing up to write another album and applauded her efforts. Of course, because Alison controlled the songs pumping through the superheated club, all of Ororo’s favorites were bound to make an appearance before the night ended.
Twisting her body amid the sweaty crowd, Ororo spotted violet-hued Betsy wrapped around a rather stoic Wolverine. No, she corrected, the man was smiling. Laughing at something Betsy whispered under the body thudding thumpa thumpa of music.
Who knew? Ororo joked to her friend through a convenient psychic link. Mr. Bad Ass knows how to laugh.
Betsy shot her an amused look over the teeming brood swaying together on the packed dance floor. Ororo contented herself with letting the music move through her, blood thumping with the impossibly loud bass. She smiled at Stetson-topped Wolverine, remembering her mad dash to find him a set of earplugs.
How was she to know that he had preternatural senses so sensitive that the music’s volume caused him pain?
He seemed comfortable enough now, draped over Betsy in a friendly way. Anyone might have seen them as a couple, but Ororo immediately noted there was no sexual tension between the mismatched pair. They were comfortable with one another, she decided. Comfort seemed to be the extent of the relationship.
Why she invited him on what should have been an exclusive outing still eluded Storm. She made sure to don a pair of form-fitting jeans in lieu of a dress and topped it with a cleavage-baring top that opened to her navel. Her bare arms sparkled with bicep-bracelets, wrists twinkling with twenty gold bangles apiece. Gold shoes hiked up her height so that when Wolverine met them at the car, she stood eye-to-eye with him.
She told herself over and over that dressing up was in no way connected to the mysterious Logan. Once or twice, she almost convinced herself of that, but the realization that she wanted to see him dashed all hope. For some reason, Ororo wanted that man to stop and stare at her.
Wish granted, Storm thought as Logan glanced in her direction again.
Ororo danced alone in the crowd, which tended to be her preference. She didn’t like to even appear committed to one dance partner, unless that partner resided in her exclusive circle of friends and family. She sent Wolverine a saucy smile, completely unashamed that she flirted with Jean’s man.
As the chords of her current favorite tune began to slide over the last song, Ororo screamed with delight. She tossed her arms in the air, paused, and when the male vocals began, she swung her hips in a sinuous slither. Mouthing the words to the song, Ororo lost herself in the music, letting everything fall away while she danced.
Though she tried to ignore it, Ororo felt Logan’s sizzling gaze on her, traveling the length of her body. Without opening her eyes, she turned, dipped, and moved exactly as the song demanded that she move.
~**~
Logan stopped dancing, letting Betsy get swept into the crowd. Though he had sealed his eardrums from damage with thick, flexible foam, he could still hear the undeniably sensual beat. A male sang through the heady thump of bass and the whine of a mixer. Ororo’s eyes were closed, but her mouth moved with the words.
Her arms wove high above her head, snowy hair slicked with sweat. Hips rotated in an open invitation for a man’s hands. She twisted, turned, dipped, rocked. Every twitch made Logan very aware that she could be the most devastatingly beautiful thing to walk the planet. She oozed sexuality and power, drawing Logan like a moth to flame.
He was moving toward her without realizing it. Ororo’s eyes remained closed until her hips brushed his. Logan remained motionless, halting her erotic dance so that her eyes locked onto his, her breath panting from supple lips. His hands reached up, grasping decorated wrists. To his eternal shock, he felt the pulse of what could only be her mutation deep below the skin. It thrummed in time with the music, bringing the experience of notes and vocals deeper than he could remember being touched.
Unfazed, Storm began to sway and twist once more, this time moving him with her. Not bothering to growl that this wasn’t his dance, Logan allowed her to move him. She drew him flush against him, swinging what had to be double-jointed hips against his jeans. Ororo crouched low, swaying with the music until he drew her up with a sharp tug.
“You’re gonna be trouble.” He growled, not sure how he knew she would hear him.
Her smile was immediate, tempting, naughty.
“You have no idea.”
